


Did I Fall Asleep?

by smolassassinchildx (smolassassinchild)



Series: Did I Fall Asleep [1]
Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003), Dollhouse
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Crossover, F/M, Post-Canon, Reincarnation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-08-03
Updated: 2009-08-05
Packaged: 2017-10-03 05:39:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smolassassinchild/pseuds/smolassassinchildx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Paul Ballard meets a new handler, just transferred from the Dollhouse in London. His name is Lee Josephs and it is the second time this week Paul has been struck with the most intense feeling of déjà vu he's ever had.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Did I Fall Asleep Part 1

Paul has been here at the Dollhouse for a month. Well, one month, three days, sixteen hours, and (he checks his watch) seven minutes not that he’s been keeping count, carefully marking the time since he’s sold his soul to DeWitt and her house of hell. He has a passing thought as to where Mellie is, before pushing it aside. Mellie doesn’t exist, never existed. Madeleine is her name, and Paul is not a part of her life. At least she’s free; he gave her her freedom, and he clings to that knowledge like a lifeline.

A cup of coffee seems like heaven about now.

When he pushes open the door to the handler’s ward room, he can feel the eyes on him. It’s nothing new. After the hell he went through back at the bureau with everyone staring at him like he was chasing his tail with the Dollhouse case, he’s used to feeling the scrutinizing gaze on his back; hell, even on his front. He pours himself a cup of coffee (it’s definitely better than the bureau, he has to hand that to them) musing about how he spent so much time trying to find this place and now can’t wait to find a way out—if only it were as simple as striding out the front door. He knows that if he makes one wrong move the Dollhouse can make him disappear forever.

Suddenly there’s someone alongside him pouring a cup of coffee as well. Shorter than him by a good half a foot--a new handler, he guesses because he knows he’s never seen this man before, but has a flickering flash of grey and brown and blue in his mind and the thought that he knows him from somewhere. He blinks once, twice. It’s the second time this week that he’s had this feeling.

The first time it hit him was three days ago. He’d just come back from one of Echo’s engagements and she had gone off for Topher to wipe every second of it out of her mind. As he made his way through the labyrinth of hallways, he passed DeWitt giving the grand tour to her newest addition. The young woman followed her through the halls with her hands planted firmly on her hips. There was an outward confidence there, a swagger even, but the way those green eyes darted every which way gave Paul the impression of a caged tiger. Besides, if she was really so confident, why would she need to come to a place like this?

Paul glances sideways at the newcomer; how long does he have before this guy hears all about the ex-FBI agent wandering their halls? He decides to cut it off at the pass and extends his hand. “Paul Ballard.”

The man turns to him. His shoulders shift uncomfortably, head tilting, there’s a flicker of something like recognition in his eyes.

Too late, apparently. The man grips Paul’s hand in a firm shake anyway. “Lee Josephs.”

“You’re British?” Paul raises an eyebrow, unsure of why that strikes him as out of the ordinary.

Lee raises his mug to his lips. “Last time I checked, yes.” The shiftiness is gone as quickly as they had appeared. “I just transferred here from London.”

It can’t hurt to wonder out loud. “Have you ever been to Los Angeles before?”

“No.” Lee moves towards the table, away from him; and it takes Paul a moment to register he is nodding his head for Paul to follow. “This is my first time in the States, actually.” So much for that theory. As he lowers himself into a chair, Lee places a magazine on the table that he’s been keeping tucked under his arm.

Paul steals a glimpse at the cover, before taking a seat next to Lee. “‘Mitochondrial Eve?’ You a National Geographic fan?”

“Not really, but I needed something for the flight.”

Paul picks up the magazine and flips it open to a photograph of skeletal remains. He’s never been interested in bones. He’s always been more interested in finding the people before they turn into this. When he sees the remains, however, he feels a short pang of sadness rip through him, like he’s lost someone he cares deeply about.

“It’s a fascinating article.” Lee assures him.

Paul is assured, but he puts it aside anyways.

\---

Lee’s done this before. Hell, he’s forgotten how many times he’s done it. He has been a handler in London for six years. The women—and men for that matter—sitting in that chair, looking towards you with all that childlike amazement that is just as fake as the scripted words about trust. He knows they’re volunteers, but hell, if their life is so screwed up that they need to erase themselves for five years, that’s a lot of desperation at work. And when those five years pass, they get to start life anew, washed clean of whatever haunted them and drove them here in the first place; a prison term for the mind, the soul. It feels very Machiavellian, but Lee’s seen the look on an active’s face when they become themselves once again—there’s no truer peace in the world.

The programmer is peeling off the backing from an electrode when he walks into the room. “You know England is ahead of us, time zone-wise.” All he can see is Topher’s back blocking the view of whomever his new charge will be. “Now logically, that means you should be showing up early, not late.”

Lee casts a glance down at his watch. “I think I’d rather be eight minutes late than eight hours early.”

The technician makes an admonishing clicking noise with his tongue and shakes his head. “No appreciation for other people’s time. You need to work on your people skills, Leland.”

“Lee.” He crosses his arms over his chest.

“Yeah, sure.” Topher claps his hands together once and turns to face him with a large grin plastered on his face, eyes sparking like a child on Christmas morning. “New active. New handler. Very exciting. I love doing a first imprint it’s like… driving a new car,” he wafts his hand in front of his face, eyes closing as he breathes in some odor that Lee is completely unaware of. “Without the leathery smell.”

Lee feels the dull throb of a headache forming behind his eyes and shuts them as Topher turns towards his computer. He wants to just keep them shut until he can speak his words and leave until this active is called for an engagement, but a voice jolts him out of his thoughts. Oh well, it’s all part of the job.

“Hello.” It’s spoken simply but it has a quality that demands his attention.

Lee opens his eyes and for the first time sees the young woman (_no, the doll_, he reminds himself) sitting in the chair. Her hair is long, gold waves that fall delicately about her shoulders. He can’t quite explain why but it looks completely wrong on her and he gets the fleeting thought that it’d look a lot better chin-length. She’s looking with that same stare that they all have, but for once he feels she’s looking at him, not through him. “Hello,” he ventures as he uncrosses his arms.

Her eyes lock onto his and her head tilts ever so slightly to the left. Her nose wrinkles slightly and a smile crosses her lips. “Your eyes are blue.” It’s a simple sentence, a simple observation, but stated with such conviction that he can’t help but smile back at her.

What is it about this place? There’s something about the look in her eyes. Like he’s seen it before, and not the tabula rasa stare, either. A chill runs up his spine and he shifts his shoulders, suddenly feeling uncomfortable in his own skin. It’s the same kind of unease that filled him when he was talking to Paul, only worse. Much worse. There is not a single logical reason for this vertigo. Déjà vu, he tells himself.

A few keystrokes click, and Topher interrupts. “Are you ready for your treatment, Bravo?" She nods; Topher clicks a button and the chair reclines, drowning her in blue light. Lee feels an inexplicable surge of unease in his stomach, but doesn’t have time to dwell on it before Topher starts talking, again. “Alright, Sparky, you know the drill.” With a wide sweep of his arm, Topher presents his blank canvas, Lee fights a frown, feeling unsettled as he steps forward.

Letting out a deep breath, he reaches out his hand and curls his fingers around hers. When his skin meets hers, he’s flooded with the strange awareness that this is something he’s wanted to do for a long time, despite never having said more than one word to this woman. But now it is time for him to speak and feels the need to really mean what he says. “Everything’s going to be alright.”

“Now that you’re here.”

He feels like he’s lost, losing air, floating weightless in space (not that he’d know how that feels); like he has something he needs to be doing, maybe even for her, but his head’s just a little too clouded to remember what. His brow crinkles slightly. “Do you trust me?”

He hopes he isn’t imagining it when she looks at him like he’s an idiot. “With my life.” She even sounds a little irritated, like she’s wondering why the hell he had to ask her.

Time must pass, because before he knows what’s happening, Topher says, “You can let go of her hand now.” Not wanting to feel the technician’s eyes on him anymore (it felt like he was studying you, trying to figure out how to reduce you into facts and data and cram your brain into one of those wedges), he pulls his hand away, and Bravo turns her gaze back to Topher.

“May I go now?” She sounds a little irritated with him too.

Topher just smiles pleasantly and says the line he’s said a thousand times. “If you like.”

\---

“No cameras,” Echo says, dragging Paul into the blind spot. He can see the tension in her facial muscles as she fights to look as relaxed as possible.

“How are you feeling?” He asks, checking over his shoulder once to make sure no one can see them, no one’s in ear shot. Even if they’re in one of the few places the Dollhouse’s technology won’t find them, there’s nothing like another human to botch up a good secret.

“Like Wile E. Coyote dropped a piano on my head,” she says, a finger rubbing at her temple. “But without the fun accordion effect.”

“Didn’t Wile E. Coyote usually end up dropping pianos on himself?” It looks like Echo’s head is aching too much to come up with a witty retort, but he moves on anyway. “Does Topher know that his little “now you remember, now you don’t” trick isn’t working?”

It’s been like this since he got here—one of the reasons he’s been glad to be stuck with Echo. No other active was this aware; then again, no other active had been kidnapped and had a composite event triggered in their mind. At least it made his time here interesting, and it made him feel—for once—like he had someone on his side; he’s even come to think of her as an ally.

Echo shakes her head. “Thankfully, no. Getting better at juggling all the people crammed in my brain.” She shakes her head, like she’s battling back another personality clawing its way to the surface. He doesn’t know if that’s what actually happens to her but she’s never been able to really explain it to him. “No wonder people get sent to a psych ward for this.” Paul must look distracted. “Something on your mind?”

He’s about to start in on what’s been bothering him when what (or who, rather) has been consuming his mind rounds the corner towards them.

Lee Josephs.

Paul tries not to blanch, and Echo slips easily back into a docile state. “I think I’d like to exercise now,” she says as Lee turns his gaze their way before moving on.

“Yeah, you do that.” Paul turns to trail the handler down the hall.

\---

When Paul catches up to Lee, he’s on the balcony, elbows propped against the railing as he overlooks the tai chi class. Paul sees Echo moving in slow careful movements, looking like she’s one with the group. He follows Lee’s gaze and realizes he’s staring at the new one, Bravo.

“She’s yours, isn’t she?” Paul asks.

The way Lee jumps at the sound of his voice tells him two things. One, that the answer is yes. The second prompts his next question.

“You want to tell me what you’re really doing here?”

Lee raises an eyebrow. “I don’t know what you’re talking-”

“Let’s cut the crap, Josephs. You arrived, what, two weeks ago? A month after the Alpha debacle. Dollhouse Headquarters or Rossum or whatever just decides to send a new handler over to LA?” Lee’s looking away again. “They gave us some time, just enough so that it didn’t look suspicious, and then they sent a suit to keep an eye on how Adelle is running things.”

Lee’s hand runs over his mouth, down his chin, like he’d be stroking his stubble if he wasn’t so perfectly clean shaven whenever he showed up here. “The FBI lost a very valuable asset when they lost you.”

Paul shrugs noncommittally. “My boss didn’t seem to think so.”

There’s a hint of a smile on Lee’s lips. “Are you going to turn me in?”

Paul mirrors Lee’s position, leaning against the railing. “Nah. This place is built on secrets. What’s one more?”

\---

Tonight, her name is Kristine, Kris for short.

It’s been two months and she’s had dozens of names since he met her, and she’s been everything from a debutante to a bounty hunter (and he can’t help but think the latter suits her better.)

Tonight she plays basketball. Right before the big playoff, the team’s star player had an _unfortunate accident. _ Lee never got the details, details are not his job. His job is to stay in the van, keep an eye on the monitors, and make sure she doesn’t get killed. There must be some serious money riding (maybe more) on this game if the manager is shelling out for a perfect, programmed player.

Kris tells Lee she’s a little bit nervous, new on the scene and all that. This is supposed to be a complete underdog victory for the team—unheard-of newcomer and rigged to win.

“Are you gonna be watching?” she asks.

Kris will never know why Lee’s so damned important to her, just like she’ll never know that she hasn’t been playing this sport since she was five—because she’s been programmed to believe it. He’s supposed to stay in the van, but it looks like he might just break her heart if he says no.

So he nods and she grins and then she goes off and wins the game, because that’s what she was made for.

In fact, the game was pretty exciting. Lee couldn’t get enough of watching Kris, Bravo, whoever-she-was glide across the court (she was practically flying) sinking shot after shot and hearing the crowd roaring—just for her. Even though he has no reason to, he feels proud as he waits by the back entrance to the arena.

“How was I?” She grins when she pushes the door open. Her hair is pulled back, slick with sweat; there’s a flush in her cheeks, and she looks like she’s glowing. He wonders—hopes?—if it’s adrenaline and nothing more.

The completely unprofessional desire to just put his arms around her and kiss her as a reply is surprisingly hard to fight. Finally, he gets himself under enough control to simply say, “You were amazing.”

The next bit happens too quickly. He thinks he sees a flicker of a shadow just around the corner. There’s a gunshot, he’s sure of that. And he’s very sure of Kris’s body on top of his as they hit the ground together. Someone really must not have liked the outcome of the game. Lee’s betting it’s the same guy who caused the _unfortunate accident_. Before he can get his own gun from its holster, Kris has knocked the gunman’s feet out from underneath him; his head strikes the pavement with a sickening thud and Kris looks like she’s ready to go to town on his unconscious face. Lee’s pretty sure that was not part of the imprint she was given.

There’s a tear in the sleeve of her sweatshirt, red beginning to spread from the center, but she doesn’t even seem to notice. “Would you like a treatment?” he asks as he gets to his feet. He needs to get her back to Dr. Saunders ASAP.

Kris looks from Lee to the gunman back to Lee before she makes a grudging acceptance. “Fine, but when I’m done, I’m coming back and kicking his ass.”

He puts his hand on her shoulder and they head back to the van. In twenty minutes Kris will be gone, Bravo will be back. Topher will wipe the incident from her mind, and Claire will have her patched up, the scar removed like it never even happened.

\---

“You’re not going to find it in there.”

They call her the Phantom around here.

“Dr. Saunders,” Lee says with a nod, clutching the file in his hands a little tighter.

“That’s just her physicals,” she says, motioning towards the folder. “I’m guessing that’s not what you’re looking for.”

Has he really been that obvious? Or maybe the Phantom just sees what the others don’t.

“You want to know why she came here.” Claire sits at her desk, looking firmly up at Lee, the puckered lines of scars that cross her face highlighting the intensity of her gaze. “That information is classified. I’m sure you’re aware of that.”

“Very.” His voice is strained as he replaces the file on the shelf. London, LA, it’s really no different.

“There are tapes.” _Of course_, he thinks. How could he have forgotten? He turns back to her with a raised eyebrow. She looks away from him. “Her name is Amy.”

“How much did you see?”

“Some. Adelle’s careful. She’ll never keep a complete file where someone can access it.” Saunders taps her pencil against the side of her desk. “It sounded like an accident. Someone died. Probably someone important. Definitely Bravo’s fault. Somehow it lead her here.”

She watches him as he replays her words in his mind. He could have heard this story before.

“I wasn’t _looking_ for hers.” Claire breathes; she seems to be talking mostly to herself. “Sometimes you just… want to know what happened before this place.”

That’s when he realizes—Claire’s tenure isn’t up.

  
\---

Lee’s sure he’s seconds away from trying to rip out her throat. But instead he takes a deep breath, his hands curling into fists, and asks in a very careful voice for Adelle to repeat herself.

“You heard me the first time, Mr. Josephs.” She’s carrying herself, tight and closed off and it probably has something to do with the three Rossum Corporation suits—two of whom look more like muscle than executives—that are standing sentinel in the office.

“But it’s not _legal_. You can’t just take someone’s body and sell it for someone else to wear like a… _shirt_.”

“Not legal yet. But Mr. Ambrose assures me it will be in only a matter of months.” Her voice is clipped and strained and does not sound assured in the least. “And until that time, operations will continue as planned. That is part of running a clandestine operation after all. The legislation is merely a formality.”

“I don’t give a damn what the sodding Rossum Corporation has to say.” And now he’s snapped, every last ounce of effort reserved for remaining rational and reasonable is transformed into utter rage. “They can’t do this. They _cannot_ take Bravo. She is still a person, she has a soul, and a contract that says she’s supposed to get her life back!”

Lee’s too busy straining against the suits (they’ve got him by the arms, now) to see the glimmer of a tear welling up in DeWitt’s eye. “She’ll never know she didn’t. That will be all, Mr. Josephs.”

\---

“Alright, just breathe now. Come on.” Paul is following Lee’s tight pacing circles in the wardroom. He looks like a madman and the scary thing is that Paul knows exactly how he feels.

The Dollhouse says it gives people what they want, but they know the truth.

“This is _murder_.”

“Well, you’re talking. Talking means you’re breathing. Now just focus on the second part.” Paul grabs Lee by the shoulders, forcing him to stand in one spot. “You’re making me dizzy.”

“This is not uploading a personality for a job.” Lee is shaking in Paul’s grip. “This is not some dream made reality. This is not what she… not what they signed up for., They volunteer and five years later they go back to their _lives_! Don’t you see, they’re killing her!”

“Yes!” Paul snaps, before he follows his own advice and lowering his voice once again. “I see. I also hear, and if you don’t want the entire Dollhouse to hear too, you’re going to stop yelling and start listening, alright?” And for the first time that hour, Paul is sure he’s finally gotten his attention. Lee nods and Paul releases his grip.

The door to the wardroom swings open, Echo slips inside and closes it quickly behind her. “Bedtime’s in ten minutes. I don’t have a lot of…” she trails off as her eyes fall on Lee, whose jaw has dropped slightly.

“She’s…” Lee blinks once. Twice.

“Yeah. Like I said. Secrets.” Paul turns back towards Echo. “You remember the plan?”

She nods. “I thought we were waiting for the right day.”

“That’s tonight,” he says.

\---

Usually, as Chief of Security, you had a lackey watching the feeds. Tonight, however, Boyd is filling in, and he’s glad he served his time as handler. It made him used to sitting around watching monitors, sometimes even as long as three days, so one night didn’t seem like much at all.

It’s around midnight when it happens. In one of the actives’ bedrooms, one glass panel begins to slide out of place. Not much, just enough for the occupant to slide herself out. It doesn’t take long for Boyd to see that it’s Echo, especially when she seeks out the room’s security camera and locks eyes with him across the feed.

He should be wondering how she got out and how she knew he’d be watching. But all he can do is lean back in his seat, foot nudging against a clump of wires, thinking how unfortunate it would be if they were to lose the security feeds at that moment.

And the screens go blank.

Oh no.

What a catastrophe.

He should probably get Topher to come fix this, seeing how he’s the most technologically adept person in the building and he’s probably still awake at this hour. Besides, with the Rossum Corp executive still in the building he needs to at least pretend he was doing his job. Still, it wouldn’t hurt to take the long way to Topher’s office.

\---

The recessed bed looks more like a coffin, Lee thinks as he kneels down beside it. He slides his hands along the edges of the glass until he’s able to get a handle on it. He pushes back, and inch by inch it recedes until he can clearly see Bravo, lying on her side, knees curled up to her chest. The white cotton of her nightgown seems to glow in the dim light and makes her look like some kind of angel.

She looks so damned peaceful like that, and it makes his heart ache. If time wasn’t of the absolute essence he could have just watched her like that for hours. Instead, Lee reaches out, brushing his hand across her cheek and watches as her eyes flutter open.

“It’s not morning.” Her brow crinkles in confusion.

“No.” He shakes his head. “It’s not. But we have to go.”

She slowly sits herself up. “I’m supposed to sleep at night.”

“Bravo,” he breathes her name like a prayer as he reaches for her hand. “Do you trust me?” There’s something about using that first imprint to get her to come with him that makes him slightly sick to his stomach, but there’s no time to try to convince her. Even though Paul assured him the security feed would be cut, but with the Rossum suits still loitering he doesn’t want to leave anything to chance.

She rises to her feet, clutching his hand as she steps out of the coffin. “With my life,” she echoes.

\---

“Topher.”

“Hey there, man friend.”

“Don’t call me that.”

Topher just grins more at Boyd’s irritation. “What can I do for you?”

“The security feeds went down about five minutes ago, I need someone to take a look at it.”

“Not my job,” he says with a noncommittal shrug.

“Can you not be a pain in my ass for just one night?”

Topher has nothing better to do. The two men leave the office thirty seconds before Lee sneaks in.

\---

“Four minutes, thirty-three seconds.” Paul says as he checks his watch. “That’s a lot of time for us to get caught. I can’t believe he forgot the wedge.”

“When it was just the two of us we didn’t need the wedge, we didn’t take into account needing to put someone’s mind back.” Echo twists around to look at Bravo. She’s sitting in the back seat of the black sedan with her head leaning against the window.

“Four minutes, nineteen seconds. What do we do if he doesn’t make it back?”

“We do what he says; we get Bravo out of here.”

“And without the wedge? Without her memories?”

She hesitates. “We’ll figure something out.”

“Three minutes, forty-eight seconds.”

\---

Nothing like another human to botch up a good escape. It’s the only thing he could think when the gunshot rang out.

In the split second that the white hot pain shot through his arm, Lee lost his grip on the wedge and the case of plastic and metal with Bravo’s memories, her _life_, fell from his hand and shattered at his feet. He’d failed her, totally, utterly, and completely and that became his only focus.

Not the pain, not the way the Rossum thugs grabbed him and pinned his arms behind his back, not the cacophony of voices in the doorway. He only barely heard the Rossum executive say the words “the Attic.”

For all the times he’d seen that chair being used, Lee had never been in it. Now he is, struggling against his restraints as if it mattered. If Paul and Echo listened to him, they are gone by now and have taken Bravo with them and he clings to that hope the best he can. Soon that will just be another hazy memory in the periphery of his mind. He’s heard the horror stories. It isn’t the blissful blank slate of the actives; it’s having everything on the tip of your tongue, knowing there is a life to remember but unable to recall any of it.

A slow death by madness.

The pain and the panic coursing through his veins demand his attention, but he fights to stay focused for as long as he still can, even when he feels his grip on his memories failing, life going blank within his mind.

The last memory. It’s not the clearest memory, but it takes him over nonetheless.

He’s standing in a field with Bravo. No, it’s not Bravo… but it’s _her (Amy? No, that’s not right, he knows…somehow) _ and the sun seems to be shining just on her.

_Today is the first day of the rest of your life, Lee. _

Her voice sounds broken.

And then she’s gone.

“_Kara! _” Lee screams.

And he’s gone, too.

\---End Part 1---


	2. Did I Fall Asleep Chapter 2

“Wait here.” Paul kicks the door in drawing his handgun as he does, leaving Echo with Bravo in the hallway. The walls are painted a sickly mint green and orange light filters in from the lone window facing the street.

Bravo’s hand closes around Echo’s forearm as she surveys the hallway with a wary eye. “Where are we?”

Echo cranes her head to see into the darkened apartment before turning back. “Someplace safe.” _I hope.  
_  
Bravo nods and accepts the answer. She stares expectantly out the window for a moment before she speaks again. “It’s night. I’m supposed to sleep when it’s night.”

Paul sticks his head out into the doorway and nods to them. “Coast’s clear.”

“Come on, Bravo.” Echo gives her hand a light squeeze. “You can get some sleep inside.”

They slip through the doorway and Paul slides the seven or so locks into place. He motions towards a door at the back of the main room. “The bedroom is back that way,” he says. Echo puts her hand around Bravo’s shoulder and leads her around the massive pile of dead marijuana plants that occupy the center of the room.

“Let’s get you into bed,” she says gently.

There’re piles of clothing on the bed still, and Echo’s fairly sure the sheets haven’t been washed since long before the apartment’s occupant cleared out, but she moves away the clutter and smoothes out the blanket. Bravo lowers herself onto the bed and curls her knees to her chest. “Get some sleep now, okay?”

“Echo?” Bravo says, causing her to pause in the doorway.

“Yeah?”

“When’s Mr. Josephs getting here?”

Echo purses her lips. “Soon. Really soon.” She’s gotten good at lying. Echo shuts the door behind her as she leaves.

Paul is in the kitchenette, testing the taps for water and coming up empty. “Of course, he didn’t need water,” he mutters to himself. “He just recycled his own urine.”

“What?” Echo raises an eyebrow.

He just shakes his head. “This was Stephen Keppler’s place… The environmental freak had this place running on as little energy as possible. It’s a good place to hide, almost completely off the grid. That’s why Alpha stayed here. Figured it’d work for us if it worked for him.”

“And _Alpha_ lived here?” Her jaw drops. “And the possibility that Psycho was still here didn’t occur to you?”

“I checked to make sure the coast was clear, didn’t I? Besides, he killed Keppler, dumped him in Tucson and stayed here just long enough for me to find him. A couple of days tops.”

Echo cast a glance around the apartment. Unwashed dishes, dead drug plants, windows all high and narrow so no one could see in. “I wonder if Alpha left us anything useful.”

Paul shrugs as he heads for the door. “Keep your eyes peeled.”

“Where are you going?”

“Gotta ditch the car, I’m sure they’re tracking it.” Paul tugs his jacket on, sliding the locks out of place. “I’ll be back.”

\---

Sunrise is creeping in through the high windows but it doesn’t actually light up the apartment—just sort of tints the ceiling a blood red. Echo’s been lying flat on her back staring up at the ceiling since Paul left; no matter how she arranges herself on the couch she just can’t fall asleep.

She pushes herself up off the tacky yellow and blue plaid loveseat and paces the apartment. She opens drawers, cabinets, and sorts through the drifts of useless junk on the countertops. Her fingers close on a vial half-emptied of a clear viscous liquid. Curiosity stirred, she unscrews the lid and takes a sniff just as three knocks sound at the door.

“Paul?” she asks, leaning her head against the doorframe.

“No,” he says with a light, tired laugh belying his sarcasm, “it’s the Easter Bunny.”

Echo slides the locks out of place and cracks the door open. “Where the hell have you been?” she chides, as he slips into the room.

“I drove the sedan up to Santa Barbara, doubled back by bus.”

“That’s quite a drive. You couldn’t have just ditched it with the keys in the ignition in one of the shadier parts of town?”

“Then, they’d know we were still in LA.” He nods to the travel drink carrier in his hands. He smiles like it’s an apology. “I brought coffee.” Her exhaustion makes her forgive him as she pulls out one cup and sets it aside, and then a second one from which she pries the lid off. “What’s that?” he asks, gesturing towards the vial in her hand.

 “Alpha _did_ leave something behind.” She holds up the vial. “This. This drug was in a canteen left for _me_ a long time ago. When I drank the spiked water, that’s when I started to remember things; things that happened to me during engagements, even little flashes of my life before the Dollhouse.”

Paul takes the vial from her and turns it over in his hands. “How do you know this is what did it?”

“The water tasted funny. Just like how this smells.”

“You drank water even though it tasted weird?” He raises an eyebrow.

Echo snatches the vial back. “You try getting hunted by a Human Poacher through the woods for a while and tell me if you turn down water.”

“Experience tells me when you get exactly what you need exactly when you need it, it’s usually not going to turn out the way you planned it.”

She turns the vial in her hands, watching the thick, clear liquid roll lazily around inside. “I was imprinted when I drank it, Bravo isn’t.” She looks at him speculatively.

Realization dawns in his eyes and Paul sets his lips in a grim line and picks up the uncovered coffee cup, holding it out to her. “Don’t really have much to lose, do we?”

\---

“Morning,” Echo says, sitting down at the edge of the bed.

Bravo cracks one eye open and pushes herself up into a sitting position. “Morning,” she replies, her voice thick with exhaustion.  Echo presses the cup into her hand, making sure Bravo’s grip is tight before she lets go.

“Drink this.” Echo fights a frown. “It might taste kind of strange, but it’s… it’s medicine, so make sure you drink the whole thing, okay?”

Bravo raises a dubious eyebrow. “Am I sick?”

She remembers the dizziness, the disorientation, the nausea and thinks,_ no, but you’re gonna be_. She places a hand gently on Bravo’s knee. “Paul and I are just trying to help you feel better.” Echo watches Bravo raise the cup to her lips.

\---  
_  
So what about you? What are you gonna do? Today is the first day of the rest of your life, Lee._

_Well? I always thought when this was all done I would, um, uh, kick back. Relax, spend the rest of my days doing the absolute minimum humanly possible._

_And now that you're here?_

_I want to explore! I want to climb the mountains, I want to cross the oceans, I want to..._

The wind is knocked from her body, lungs burning in her chest. The way her stomach churns she’s pretty damned sure she’s going to vomit, but there’s not much in her system so she just rolls onto her side, dry heaving over the edge of the bed.

How did everything get so dark? The last thing she remembers is the sun warm on her skin, blue skies, and green grass. Now it’s badly painted walls, dim florescent lighting, and stagnant air.

She’s vaguely aware of hands on her shoulders, a door swinging open, voices clamoring (she’s pretty sure there are two—one female, one male), and when she’s finally caught her breath she rolls onto her back. The room taunts her, turning circles, and she presses a hand to her forehead. “Frak,” she groans.

“Bravo?” Someone leans over her and it takes a few seconds for the face to come into focus and she’s so godsdamned glad to see a familiar face. “Bravo, are you alright?”

Her brow furrows. What did Karl just call her? Maybe she’s not hearing right, her heart is pounding in her ears after all. “Helo, what the _hell_ is going on?”

“Helo?” he echoes and shakes his head. “My name is Paul. I-”  
_  
Everything is going to be alright._

_Now that you’re here._

It’s more than just nausea this time; there’s a physical pain that shoots through her.

_How was I?_

_You were amazing._

Maybe she screams, she’s not sure, but her throat does feel particularly sore.

_Bravo, do you trust me?_

_With my life._

And the world is back. Her head feels like it’s about to explode but everything in it is ridiculously clear. Two sets of images race in her mind—the grey metal corridors of _Galactica_, the cherry wood and glass of the Dollhouse; uniforms, yoga clothes; her rack, her pod; the six hours that never were, the dozens of lives she never lived; Lee Adama, Lee Josephs. She’s fighting to get air into her lungs and the others (_Paul, Echo,_ their names are vivid in her mind) are clamoring to know if she’s alright and it’s just too much.

“Back off!” she growls out; her mouth is dry and her voice doesn’t want to cooperate. She doesn’t care. “Just back _off!_” She waits until they’re out of the room before she lets herself start trembling.

_I just know that I'm done here. I've completed my journey. It feels good._

She wonders if the gods are having fun frakking with Kara Thrace’s existence like this.

\---

A full length mirror hangs in the bedroom. Cracked and clouded in a few places, but she can see herself well enough. Kara grips the white cotton and pulls it up over her head before dropping it to the floor. It pools at her feet, but she doesn’t notice; she’s fixated on the reflection in front of her, naked save for a pair of thin white underwear. Her hair falls to about her mid-back (the last time she remembered having hair this long was in Leoben’s frakking dollhouse on New Caprica, and the irony is just too much.) It’s clean though, scrubbed and conditioned like she actually spends more than five minutes in the shower.

She looks down at her hands and it’s very much the same; the skin is soft, nails filed into soft ovals with a thin layer of clear polish coating them. But what’s more interesting is what’s underneath—the bones have never been broken. She runs them over her torso, over her hip where she remembers a scar. There’s nothing, no marks, no ink; everything is wiped clean. Kara wonders if that was just the kind of life she’d been leading (that didn’t seem right), and decides it must have been the Dollhouse just stripping her away. 

Her fist curls tight, nails digging into her palms. She draws back her right hand and with a guttural cry, she slams it into the mirror. The glass crackles and falls apart, shards clattering to the floor.

“Bravo?” She hears Karl (_no, not Karl, Paul_) on the other side of the door. “Are you okay?”

Kara stares down at her right hand, tiny rivulets of red streaking her knuckles. “Yeah,” she says, her eyes fix on the small wounds. She walks over to the nightstand, digging through the drawer until her hand falls on the cold metal she was looking for. She lifts her gaze to her fragmented reflection in the shattered mirror. “I’m feeling better already.”

\---

When she rejoins the others in the main room of the apartment, she’s pulled on a knitted wool hoodie and a pair of jeans she found in the closet. They’re about two sizes too big on her and they completely reek of weed (of course, humanity would never ditch_ that._) Her mind reels and her body feels sluggish, the way that it’s harder to wake up after a really long night’s sleep—Kara’s not really sure how long she’s been asleep. There’s a calendar on the wall that says 2009 but the number means frak all to her.

“You cut your hair?” Paul asks from the kitchenette, studying the ragged, uneven locks that fall to her chin for a moment before he gives an appreciative nod. “It looks good on you.”

When Paul smiles, it’s the same smile she knows from around the triad table, that same stupid grin and there’s no doubt in her mind that somehow this man used to be her best friend. “Thanks.”

Echo is looking at her with something like concern when she pushes herself off the couch. “I don’t know if it helps, but someone slipped me the same drug.” She closes her eyes and shakes her head. “He seriously messed with my head. It’s not easy—getting back your sense of self. I know how you feel.”

_You have no frakking idea. _But Kara nods and looks down at the triggering coffee cup she has clutched in her hand. For some reason, it’s marked Starbucks and under any other circumstance she probably would’ve found seeing her callsign on a coffee cup hilarious.

“What do you remember?”  Paul asks.

Kara watches Paul walking towards her and part of her wants to hit him. How_ dare_ he not remember what they’ve gone through, not remember her? “More than I wanted to.” The other part just wants him to hold her the way he did in the Delphi Museum and make her feel like her world isn’t actually falling apart. 

Kara folds her arms across her chest, holding herself. It’s doesn’t really work. They look like they’re about to ask her something and she really doesn’t want to hear any more questions so she cuts them off with her own. “Where’s Lee?” She watches the look that passes between them and amends her sentence. “And none of that he’ll be here soon crap.”

Echo takes a deep breath before delivering the blow. “Dead. Maybe worse.”

Kara feels the blood draining from her face. She remembers his hand on her cheek, the concern in his eyes as he told her they had to go, his hand holding hers as they raced through the halls, and his retreating back racing away from her with some purpose she didn’t understand. Paul looks uncomfortable, guilty even, and says something about there being a Thai restaurant nearby and slips out of the apartment, leaving Echo to fill in the gaps in the details.

Her eyes narrow into a glare. “You just left him there?”

Echo says, “He told us the most important thing was to get you out of there. All he wanted was for you to get your life back, and if DeWitt got him? Well, we couldn’t exactly deny a guy his dying wish.”

Kara says nothing.

\---

Paul comes back with lunch and they eat lunch in silence.

Or rather, _they_ eat.

Kara sits, poking at her food. That was Lee; always rushing off and doing the _right _thing, going and getting himself killed trying to get “Bravo’s” memories back. Idiot.

Very briefly, she wonders what they are. Whoever Bravo was before she was in the Dollhouse, she wasn’t Kara. Or was she? Was she Kara the way she’s sure Lee Josephs was Lee Adama and Paul Ballard is Karl Agathon, even if he doesn’t remember it.

Kara jabs her fork into her noodles. “We have to go back for him.” Her voice is firm and resolute and when Paul and Echo don’t immediately agree with her she shoots them a glare. “We don’t know for sure that he’s dead.”

“We can’t go back, they’re already looking for us. If we go back to the Dollhouse, DeWitt will definitely be waiting for us.” Echo says. “From here on in, everything we do to stop Rossum and the Dollhouse is going to have to be from the outside.”

“I don’t give a frak!” Kara slams her fork down onto the table, causing it to shake and she shoots to her feet. Her shoulders are shaking, heat rising in her cheeks.  “Lee risked his life to help me, and if there’s even a chance that he’s alive I am _not _going to sit around and let him suffer!”

Paul rises from the table. “Bravo, if Lee is alive, he’s in the Attic.”

“Well fine!” she screams. “We’ll go there!”

“We don’t know where it is. And even if we did, there’s still no way we can bring him back without the Dollhouse’s technology.” Paul tries to put his hand on her shoulder but she abruptly jerks away, nearly knocking the table over.

\---

That night, Kara lies in the bedroom again staring at the ceiling, furiously chipping away at the polish on her fingers. She replays Echo’s words from earlier. People’s brains copied, sealed into ones and zeroes, and uploaded into another body. When she closes her eyes, she sees Sharon. Kara realizes she doesn’t know if she’s seeing Boomer or Athena, and suddenly the room loses its air.

She pushed herself to her feet and walks out into the living room. Echo is asleep on the couch and Kara sees Paul through the open door to the bathroom, sprawled awkwardly in the tub. She crosses the room and slides the various locks open and hears Echo behind her just as she opens the door.

“Where are you going?”

“Out,” Kara replies, slipping into the hall. Echo trails her and is about to say something when her attention is distracted by something out the window. Kara uses the moment to get away. She pushes open the door to the stairwell, and it clangs shut behind her, just as Echo’s calling out her name.

It doesn’t take long for her to figure out just what Echo was trying to warn her about. On the landing half a flight down, Adelle DeWitt stands. She looks a little bit disheveled, but the fire burning in Kara’s gut is much stronger than her observational skills right now.

“Bravo,” Adelle starts.

Kara stops her. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t snap your neck, right here, right now.”

The door creaks open behind her and Echo walks out onto the landing.

Adelle’s gaze focuses on Echo then moves back to Kara. “I know nothing I can say will change what I have done but--”

“You were going to sell my body to the highest frakking bidder!” Kara’s voice echoes harshly in the stairwell.

Adelle doesn’t flinch. “Rossum didn’t give me a choice. Join or die. They’d kill me and send someone in my place who would go through with their plans. But after what happened with Mr. Josephs… no… I won’t be under their thumb anymore. They will rain down hell on me, us, the entire Los Angeles Dollhouse for this, maybe even the city itself, but I cannot go along with this nightmare.” She swallows hard, and draws a handgun from her bag. She climbs three stairs, and presses the gun into Kara’s hand. “If you don’t trust me, I understand. But I do come bearing a peace offering.”

Kara’s gaze turns hard as she presses the barrel of the gun against Adelle’s forehead, her finger hovering on the trigger. “What could you _possibly_ have to offer me?”

 “Why, Mr. Josephs, of course.”

\---

Kara spends the ride back to 23 Flower Street staring out the window, trying to memorize the turns Adelle was taking. Paul and Echo had tried to insist on coming as well, but Kara made them stay behind, saying that if anything happened to her they needed to stay on the outside to keep up their fight.

She sinks back in her seat, feeling the gun pressed up against the small of her back, where she stowed it. Adelle’s head turns, and she opens her mouth as if to say something then seems to think better of it. In fact, she stays silent again until they’ve pulled into the parking garage. She pulls the keys out and hands them over. “All the tracking devices have been removed from this car. Use it when you leave.”

Kara slides the keys into the pocket of her jeans as they exit the car. As she looks around the garage, she’s struck repeatedly by the memory of Lee’s hand reaching out to her as she stepped down from the black van. He led her over to the elevator, and she knows she isn’t supposed to remember any of that but she does and it feels like a steel-toed boot to the gut.

“Mr. Langton has retrieved Mr. Josephs’ body from the Attic,” Adelle says.

There’s sorrow and shame in her voice, but Adelle doesn’t ask for forgiveness.

Which means Kara can’t have the satisfaction of denying her any.

She thinks she’d like to put a bullet in her just for that.

\---

Adelle goes up to her office in the elevator and Kara waits five minutes before she descends into the Dollhouse. As the elevator muzak plays, she pulls the gun from its hiding place. She’s actually somewhat surprised to see that no one is waiting for her when the doors slide open. Her legs take over and she sprints through the atrium, up the stairs, and into the imprinting room. She sees Lee just where Adelle told her he would be.

In the Chair.

The sight is more horrific than she thought it would be. His face expressionless, he stares out into nothing—he doesn’t even blink when she steps in front of him, doesn’t move when she touches his cheek. If it weren’t for his chest rising and falling she would swear he was a corpse.

“Whoa. Hey. You are not supposed to be here. How… how did you get in here?” She looks up to see Topher in the doorway, and instantly raises her weapon. “Whoa! Gun! Um… could you, you know, point that thing in another direction and… you know… not at me?”

She’s standing toe to toe with him in a few quick strides. “You know where they’re keeping his memories?”

“…No?” She cocks the gun. “Yes, yes, actually I do.”

“Move,” she commands.

“Yes, ma’am.” He whimpers.

“You can call me _sir._”

She marches him back to the archives and after a few minutes he appears with the wedge, _with Lee_, in his hands. She shudders at the thought of him compressed into something so small and breakable. “You know I’ve never actually _reversed _the process before.” His voice warns and weasels like it’ll absolve him from any wrong move.

 “You’re going to do it, and you’re going to do it right. Otherwise, I’m going to start putting holes in every appendage in your body, starting with the shortest.” She aims the gun, which had been pointed at his chest, significantly lower.

Topher yelps and turns to his computer not-so-surprisingly motivated now. He’s clicking keys and the chair slides downward, blue light flowing over Lee’s features. Topher’s muttering something, but she doesn’t hear.

Doubts are too busy flooding her head. _What if it’s like Helo… Paul? What if he doesn’t remember her at all? What if the only reason he protected Bravo at all was because it was his job? _ The thought claws at her, making every second seem to drag on forever.

Topher clicks one button and turns back towards them. In The Chair, Lee’s body tenses, eyes widening for a moment before the dullness and emptiness fades away and it looks like he’s come back from the dead.

\---

The world comes crashing back to him, two lifetimes worth of memories flooding him at once. The chair is easing him up into a sitting position, and as his vision clears, she is the only thing he sees. Half of his mind insists it’s Bravo, but when he looks up into her eyes and sees the fierceness burning there, the other half of his mind tells him it’s _her. _

She’s watching him, waiting for him to say something, but when he just keeps staring, she gets impatient. “Lee?” she breathes.

She says his name in a way Bravo never did, never could. The sound of her voice brings back flashes of stars and bright metal wings against the darkness of space. “Kara? Is it really you?”

“Whoa, hey. Accent. Gone. I-I-I didn’t do that!” Topher stammers out and quickly shuts up when Kara raises the gun again, never once taking her eyes off of Lee.

And before she can confirm with words what he’s now sure of, he’s on his feet and pulling her tight against his chest. He feels a shuddering breath leave her body as she rests her head on his shoulder, relaxing into his touch. As he leans his cheek against her hair, he thinks it should be weird. To Lee Josephs, Dollhouse handler (or ex-handler at this point), this should be weird; but the other memories, the older ones, tell him this is exactly how it’s supposed to be. “Gods, I didn’t think I’d ever see you again.”

Kara slips one hand around the back of his neck and pulls back just enough to zero in on his mouth and seal her lips to his. Apparently, she’s thinking the exact same thing. He remembers waiting in the field, knowing she was never coming back but unable to will himself to leave, wishing he’d just had the guts to reach out, to touch her, to do this. He slips his hands around to Kara’s back, tugging her closer and he’s damn sure his hands are about to start seeking out the hot skin under her clothes when Topher—frakking Topher—starts in.

“Okay, okay. Makeout session out of my office. Out of this facility, actually… Now would be good.” He looks furtively towards the camera in the corner and gestures forcefully towards the doorway. Right before they leave, he calls out to them once more. “Hey, you know the appendage shooting thing you were talking about? Could you know… hit me somewhere not lethal? It’ll make my coercion story sound a little more reliable.”

Kara just rolls her eyes.

\---

Los Angeles’s highways are bathed in yellow-orange streetlight as the black sedan cruises back towards the apartment. Kara’s hands are tight on the steering wheel (turns out cars on Earth? Not too different from cars on the colonies) and she can’t wait to put as much distance between her and the Dollhouse as she can. She casts a glance towards the passenger seat and sees that Lee is still watching her. He’s had his eyes fixed on her since they left. She almost wants to tell him it’s okay to blink, she’s not going anywhere. Not this time.

The radio is playing softly, crackling with static, and it fills some of the silence. It’s not that there isn’t anything to say; there’s too much, too many questions (which she’s frankly sick of), too many apologies, too many places to start. After another five minutes of driving she eventually settles on “Thank you.” She laughs because that sounds really pathetic after everything.

Lee laughs too, shaking his head. “I’m pretty sure I should be the one thanking you.”

They fade into silence again, and Kara sees the sign—one mile to the exit. The exit that will take them back to Paul and Echo, back to their fight, to taking down the Dollhouse—all the Dollhouses. The temptation to just keep going, pour on the gas, and drive until she can’t stay awake anymore is overwhelming. She almost does it. She would have if Lee hadn’t started talking.

“People never learn…” Kara raises an eyebrow at his sentence. “Copying memories… sticking them into new bodies… life after death…”

“…it’s Resurrection,” she finished.

“Rossum is just a couple of synthetic heartbeats away from recreating the Cylons. Or who knows… maybe something even worse this time.” He shifts in his seat to face her. “It’s just an estimate based on an article I read, but… it’s been one hundred and fifty thousand years, Kara. One hundred and fifty thousand years and-”

“All this has happened before, and all this will happen again.” She lets out a bitter laugh.

Lee sinks back into his seat, shaking his head. “Yeah.”

When they reach the off-ramp, Kara’s hand doesn’t hesitate as she hits the turn signal.

\---

She pulls the black sedan into an abandoned alley, shrouded in the shadow of the apartment building. Kara kills the ignition just as another song comes on the radio.

_There must be some- _

“Home, sweet home,” she groans as she unhooks her seatbelt and throws open the door. She raises an eyebrow when Lee doesn’t do the same and strolls around to his side of the car, pulling his door open. Kara bends down, poking her head into the car. “Having trouble with your seatbelt?” she asks with a little bit of a smirk.

Before she knows what’s happening, his hands are tugging on her hips and she falls into his lap. One hand moves up to her face, thumb brushing over her cheekbone, and he’s smiling at her before he closes the distance between them with a kiss—hungrier and more demanding than earlier. He’s nipping at her lower lip and she can’t suppress the light moan that escapes her.

“Right here? Right now?” she asks, panting when they break for air.

Lee hits a button and the seat falls back and he pulls her down on top of him. “Ever since I got to LA.” His fingers tangle in her hair. “I just… I knew it was you. Somewhere, deep down, I felt it…” He is staring at her, drinking her in. “One hundred and fifty _thousand_ years, Kara,” he repeats and the number seems unfathomable. “And I’m not going to wait one damned minute more.”

His eyes lock onto hers, blue and fierce, and she can read the question in them: _do you trust me?_

She pulls her knees up so she’s straddling his hips, pulling the car door shut and flicking the electronic lock. She cups her hands over his cheeks and leans forward, pressing her lips to his with her answer: _with my life. _

\---

When Paul pulls the door open for them he lets out a sigh of relief. “You’re back. You’re alright.” And maybe for a moment he remembers something because he pulls Kara into a hug and it definitely feels like it’s from Helo rather than Paul.  When he’s let go of her, he turns to Lee and places a wide hand on the back of his shoulder. “It’s good to see you.”

Kara watches Lee’s face and sees the moment when he realizes what she did, their friend who isn’t quite the man they remember. But that last bit doesn’t seem to matter that much, as he returns the gesture. “Good to see you, too, my friend.”

Paul raises an eyebrow and draws back. “What happened to your accent?”

Kara snickers softly when Lee turns to her, eyes begging for some explanation to bail him out of this one. “You wouldn’t believe us if we told you.”

“They’re back? You’re back!” Echo is still tying the drawstring on her pants when she comes out of the bathroom, her eyes move from Kara to Lee and back again and she’s beaming. “You did it.” The glimmer in her eyes darkens as the joy passes quickly. “What about DeWitt?”

“I didn’t kill her if that’s what you mean.” Kara shakes her head. “I wanted to, believe me. But this is a lot bigger than what she did to us.”

Lee appears at her elbow. “If we’re going to take down Rossum, we’re going to need her help.”

Echo nods slowly, like she doesn’t like what they’re saying but can’t deny that they’re right.

“Were you followed?” Paul asks, craning his head towards one of the high windows. Kara shakes her head and Paul smiles that smile again. “Well then, I say we celebrate; there’s a bar about three blocks down.” He tugs on his jacket.

“Celebrate?” Lee raises an eyebrow.

“We got out.” Paul’s voice is pointed and proud because they’ve done the impossible. “It’s the beginning of their end.”

A grin crosses Kara’s lips and it’s the best—no, the second best—thing she’s heard all night. “I’ll drink to that.”

As the four file out into the hallway, voices barely lowered and definitely inconveniencing at least one sleeping neighbor, for some reason, Kara thinks it just feels right. As they head for the stairwell she feels a hand tapping at her shoulder. She turns her head to see Echo holding her right hand out.

“By the way, Bravo,” she says with a smile, “I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced. My name’s Caroline Farrell.”

She nods and grins as she grips Caroline’s hand in a firm shake as she introduces herself. “I’m Kara Thrace.”

\---End---


End file.
